Whether this cosmos holds one universe or countless others, its existence alone is enough to humble the human mind. We are tiny fragments of creation, contemplating infinity with limited understanding. The deeper we look, the more mysterious existence becomes.
Allahu Akbar.
Memory is not merely a record book; it is the architecture of identity. Every encounter, every heartbreak, every moment of joy shapes the person we become. We carry entire histories within us, while countless possible versions of ourselves remain mysteries. Who are we, really?
What if every decision opens a door to a different reality? Every road not taken, every word left unspoken, every person we lost—an entirely different history of who we might have become. Perhaps existence is far stranger than the single timeline we experience.